Karl's Alphabet
by Combination-NC
Summary: For every letter in the alphabet, there will be a story about Karl. What does he like, long for, think and dream about? What does he do when Anders is not around? Longer stories and shorter stories, sweet ones as well as sad, and all of them about Karl.
1. A Is For Anders

Neither he or Anders are the only Anders in the tower, but this Anders is the only one he allows himself to _share_ anything with. Sharing secrets, sharing memories, sharing feelings, a language and a bed. He is not the only one he has slept with, but he is the only one that he has held in his arms afterwards, the only one whose hair he carefully detangles after having tousled it during their trysts. Neither is he the only one Karl takes delight in kissing, but he is the one he takes the _most_ delight in kissing. He does not plan on telling him that any time soon, though – he would only let it go to his head, perhaps believing it to be due to his ability and not something else.

That something _else_ is something dangerous, and best not spoken out loud. It is best to have it stay a secret, and not the kind you share, hidden under covers or in storage rooms or anywhere else. Not within the walls of the tower, at least.

The way Anders smiles at him like he does now, when they have a rare moment alone together, has him believing that he somehow knows anyhow.


	2. B As In Beards

When they first meet, neither of them has a beard. Anders still unable to grow one, and Karl unable to grow a _proper_ one. It comes out uneven, a strange hairy pattern on his face that he carefully removes each morning.

The first thing he notices about him is his _anger_. It is in a hallway with a templar at each arm, all but dragging him through the corridors. He is fighting back even though he must know that it is futile to do so, sputtering insults in a language that Karl understand, but the templars thankfully does not. His hair is light and hangs loose around his face, and he tries to kick the templars at every other step. He is _feisty_.

They first start talking because they are both Anders, and the younger of the two has an accent so thick that his attempts at conversation with the other apprentices frequently ends in awkward, confused silence. But with Karl he can switch to a language they both know well enough when he lacks the words for things, and Karl supplies him with the translation for the language he needs to learn. He has no trouble with understanding the accent, but cannot quite remember when he lost his own. Perhaps _hearing_ the language he still dreams in should make him long for his old home, but for the most part it only fills him with fondness, fondness for words that sounds harsh but are not, fondness for the boy who tries to seem harsher than he is. _He_ is still homesick, and unable to accept being locked up, forbidden to venture outside as he wishes, denied of bedroom windows and even privacy.

They sit next to each other in the lower bunk, preferring to practice Anders' reading there rather than in the library, where it would be more apparent that Anders has not yet mastered the skill. Here, close together and with hushed voices, other's are likely to assume something else, as laughable as the idea is. Anders – who guards his birth name like a treasure – is much too young, still retaining the round cheeks of childhood as well as an inclinations towards juvenile temper tantrums. He has freckles, and forgets to brush his hair in the mornings. Karl likes to tousle it, the way he would do with a younger sibling, making the tangles even worse. Karl's attempts at growing a beard still only results in strange, uneven patterns, but next to this Anders he almost feels _old_, and somewhat like a mentor. It almost makes him feel at peace.

When he finally manages to grow a proper beard, Anders is out of the tower, on the run. Karl feels a peculiar surge of pride.

When they drag him back, Anders is still unable to grow a beard, still kicking and struggling and throwing insults, but there is no longer anything _childish_ about him. The way he moves is different, his smiles are sly and the accent is gone. He is _charming_.

He jokes with the other apprentices, plays pranks on the templars when he thinks he can get away with it, is flippant when it comes to his studies and is only serious in secret, next to Karl, sitting closer than ever before. In the hallways, in the library, in the dining hall and in the classrooms, Anders radiates confidence. When they are alone, as alone as they can be in the tower, there is a shy hesitation in the way that he reaches out to stroke Karl's beard.

When they first kiss, Anders' chin is slightly fuzzy.

When they first share a bed, he plants kisses all over Anders' face, and light stubble brushes against his lips, the beginnings of a dark blond beard.


	3. C Is For Comfort

There is not much comfort to be found within the walls of the tower, but he and Anders manages to find some in each other. To those around them it likely appears as if Karl is the one doing most of the comforting when Anders _feels_ so strongly, both the good and the bad, and as he grew older and his tendency towards childish temper tantrums diminished, he developed an inclination for dark mood swings instead. He blames it on being locked up, but there are times when Karl wonders, especially during his more manic tirades about the evils of the Circle. His anger is so bright and so intense that it burns that Karl is not at all surprised by the fact that this is an Anders who accidentally set a barn on fire. The sadness that overcomes him at times is equally strong, and when Anders lies with his head in Karl's lap too drained by it to even speak, Karl worries that he will one day succumb to it, drown in it.

He can stroke his hair and rub his back and calm him down when he explodes, but he is not able to watch over him at all times, and not during the worst moments. Those, Karl knows, are the ones spent in solitary. Anders does not do well alone or in darkness, and following his releases from it he is the very image of pale terror, eyes wide and shaking hands, voice thin and broken. It is for Karl, then, to breathe colour and calm into him.

For all his watching over, close to taking care of and looking after Anders, he does not think of himself as Anders' protector. They are _friends_, and friends look after each other. Anders simply does so in a different way than he.

Anders brings him hope, adds spice to the dull taste of Circle life and is a spot of colour in the grey hallways of the tower. He is beautiful, vibrant and _alive_. All mages in the tower take great care to guard their hearts from all that love is, but he _likes_ Anders. And liking Anders in the way he does reminds him of that he was at least born with a heart that could have loved if it were ever safe to do so, that he too was born with the ability to feel. And it helps him to remember that despite the treatment mages receive, he is in fact still human. Anders helps him to hold on to his humanity, silently ensuring him that he will never lose it, never give it up when faced with a demon's promises.

And that is a comfort greater than any other. Greater than the comfort their physical closeness brings, greater than all kind words and thoughts. Anders' fiery beauty and Anders' kisses and exuberant laughter is all part of that, and during his escapes Karl keeps the memory and image of him dangerously close to his heart.


	4. D As In Dancing

Anders stretches his arms out from his sides and does a little spin, blue silk skirts swirling around his legs and exposing his calves, the slits in the Tevinter style robe revealing much more than a standard Circle one would.

"What do you think?" He ask as the silk settles around him, with a smile that reveals that he _knows_. The tower does have some mirrors, after all.

And Karl knows how Anders _loathes_ the standard robes. He moans and complains about the frumpiness, the cut, the fabric and the horrid _patterns_. Of _course_ everyone is kissing everyone, when it can lead to getting _out_ of those abhorrent rags.

"Yes, yes, very nice." It is for the best, really, to not encourage him too much.

"Suitable for dancing, don't you think?"

Karl raise an eyebrow. "_Dancing?_"

"One of the new transfers showed me a little. _I_ think it should be _spicier_, though!"

When he starts to demonstrate the steps it _should_ look ridiculous, but Anders possess a natural grace that makes it work. The new robes are snug in the right places, accentuating his waist as well as his arms that are uncommonly muscular for a mage. It is in fact quite a ludicrous piece of clothing, all the silk and gold embroidery and _feathers_, but it suits him. It suits him in the same way the slow, seductive movements does, the too long hair and glistening earring. He is clean-shaven this day, and perhaps on someone else that together with the long red gold hair and pretty robes could have looked girlish, but not on Anders. And Karl knows from the transferred mage, all sweet smiles and coppery skin and curves, that this is a women's dance, but Anders does not care, and neither does Karl.

He presents his ideas for how to _spice it up_ and Karl laughs. But the suggestive hip movements is not an entirely bad idea.

"You really are the worst Anders," he says, because he is.

Because the Anderfels is a sombre land filled with sombre people, muted colours and cold and is altogether so very _bland_. And this Anders _is_ spicy, warm and colourful, and nothing at all like the memories Karl has of the home he will never see again.

"I like to think I'm the _best_ Anders," Anders objects as he climbs into Karl's lap, draping an arm around his shoulders. "And I'm thinking of calling _that_ 'Anders' Spicy Shimmy'. Tell me what a good idea it is."

"It certainly was spicy", Karl murmurs in agreement, arms around him and lips at his throat, carefully avoiding the feathers. "But really, Anders. All these feathers?"

"Feathers are stylish. And you'll enjoy this one, you'll see. _Much_ easier access."

He really has the most inviting smile.


	5. E Is For Escape

There are times when Karl ponders the prospect of escape. It is not as if Anders has never asked him to come with him, after all, hesitant hope not completely hidden under a fragile layer of humour, but Karl is unable to shake the feeling that there are places he simply cannot follow to. Places where he should not go and places where he is not meant to be. He does not have have any reason to stay in the tower aside from the leaden actuality that he has come to accept this as his place in life. Of course he does not like it, nor does he truly _want_ to remain here, but he has been in the Circle for far too long and it has a much stronger hold on him than it does on Anders. Karl does not remember as well as Anders does what it was like to be free or even how one handles freedom. Anders is convinced that he could teach Karl, that he could be the teacher for once, blatantly keen on the idea. But Karl shakes his head and forces the wish of _yes_ down, because he is needed here.

But there are other reasons to decline as well. Not only is it more difficult and dangerous for two mages to get out at the same time; if they were to escape and be found together, the consequences would be much worse than for a lone mage. They would be split up and sent to different Circles upon capture, and then there would be no one around to put Anders back together again. And there are much, much worse Circles to live in than the Ferelden one.

Anders is much too impulsive to properly plan ahead, and usually does not even know himself when the next escape is going to take place. There are no goodbyes, then, but Karl thinks that it is for the best. They need to keep some amount of distance between them, to not make the attachment that should not be there yet is too clear, too visible. They must not become anything that the templars can use against them. Life in the tower is enough of a strain on their minds as it is.

Perhaps he should be trying to deter Anders' longing for escape, but he cannot bring himself to do it. Because despite the danger of doing so, he _cares_ about Anders' well being, and the younger man is in no way well inside the tower.

Missing Anders when he is gone is unavoidable. He is the colour and light, after all. But during every escape, Karl hopes for it to be the one that is not reduced to yet another attempt.


	6. F As In First

There are many different kinds of _firsts_. The first person to feel at peace with, to connect with, to share something deeper than mere acquaintanceship with. The first one to care for, and the first to be cared for by. The first one to experience something akin to happiness with, or as close to happiness as can be allowed within the tower walls.

The first one to kiss. It is not Karl's first kiss, but it is Anders'. Slightly hesitant and soft, fingers carefully touching his beard. Only lips at _first_, but not for very long.

The first on to take to bed. It is not Karl's first time, but it is Anders'. And for Karl this time is _different_ from the others, because this time, there is a new kind of _caring_ in the act. There is a _something_ there that makes this different from his usual trysts, something other than the fact that this is not just a quick thing in a storage room with robes hiked up, something hurriedly taken care of to satisfy a deeper need that can never be fulfilled. It is something in the way that Anders invites him to undress him, something in the way robes are allowed to fall on the floor. Something in the _why_ he wants to kiss Anders' shoulders, in the _how_ their fingers are entwined when they lie down together on a proper bed.

He plants soft kisses all over him, from his feet and all the way up to his forehead, tracing small and secret words with his tongue, tickling the insides of his thighs with his beard. Anders laughs, softly, and hides his fingers in Karl's hair. Anders' skin is smooth, with soft light blond hairs on his arms and legs, and darker, coarser in other places. With his lips, he slowly follows the trail of hair that goes from his chest and further down, and then he uses his tongue as well as his hands to make Anders thrash and moan. He makes use of the grease spell, he has Anders' legs wrapped around him, and later Anders accidentally shoves his knee in Karl's ear, which was the _first _time that happened to him and hopefully also the _last_, and for a while he holds one of Anders' hands in his, Anders gripping it tighter with each thrust. Then Anders on top and with Karl inside him, long hair left free from the leather band he usually wears it in. Seeing him above him like that, warm and sweaty and satisfied, eager and smiling, reminds Karl of sunshine. When he slumps down, exhausted, Karl wraps his arms around him, because there is something about Anders that needs to be _held_.

He is the first one that Karl holds in his arms afterwards. He is the first one he lies next to, the first he speaks with afterwards in soft, content murmurs, the first whose hair he tousles just because, and he feels at peace, somewhat close to happiness. He is his first true friend, the first one he cares about in _this_ way, although he is not quite sure what _this_ is.


	7. G Is For Gallows

Karl does not precisely _like_ it in the Fereldan Circle, but he knows that he could have been much worse off. Anders' considers Kinloch Hold a prison, but at least it is not hosted in an actual building made for prisoners the way the Kirkwall Circle is. The stories the mages who has transferred from there have to tell are disquieting, and riles Anders up even more than usual.

Karl is horrified when he learns that he himself is to be transferred there.

The building is an imposing one, the loathsome slave statues towering over him, setting the mood for the place. The inside is somehow even worse than the outside, so very cramped and confined, with walls that seem to be closing in on him from all directions. Karl has never shared Anders' terror of small spaces, but in here, he can _understand_ it perfectly well. The mages here have even less privacy than the ones in Ferelden, and they sleep in actual cells. Anders would not last long in here, he thinks, and is suddenly glad that he was the one who was transferred and not him.

In the Fereldan tower there were at least some small joys to be found, but that is not the case in the Gallows. The atmosphere is oppressive, the templars more stern and the mages withdrawn. Less laughter, less trysts, and certainly no pranks. He finds himself missing Anders more than ever before. His thoughts wanders towards him often, the question of if he is doing alright on his own heavy in his mind.

Karl was not lonely in Ferelden, but he is lonely here. In a way he does not fully understand, his own beard is starting to remind him of how it was to have someone to care for, and be cared for by in return. Perhaps it is because Anders has always liked his beard so much, and when he strokes it he recalls how it felt, and how _different_ it felt, when Anders did the same. And then the beard becomes a constant reminder of how it was to not feel lonely, and what it felt like to have Anders close. And it is a comfort in the lonesome Gallows, to have that memory so close at hand.


	8. H As In Harrowing

Karl worries about his Harrowing. They all do, sooner or later. There are so many questions, and when no one is willing to answer them, perhaps not _allowed_ and forever sworn to secrecy, the only knowledge they have of the secret ritual comes from rumours and can hardly be counted as _knowledge_ at all. But one thing they all know for certain; it is dangerous. Templars must come for them in the night, because every now and then an apprentice is missing from their bed in the morning. Some of them can later be spotted in the full mages' quarters, some amongst the Tranquil, and some are never seen again at all. There are some that dies, then. Karl wonders if he is going to be one of them, if he will he end up with the sun brand on his forehead, or be fortunate enough to move into the senior mages' quarters. Life in the tower might not be _much_ of a life by some standards, but at least it is _life_.

When he walks past the unfeeling Tranquil, he wonders how much of a life _that_ is. Their hearts are still beating, yes, but a person is _more_, and should be _allowed_ to be more than a breathing body.

When the time comes for him to face his Harrowing, he discovers that he must face a demon. The realisation that the Circle has been routinely summoning demons is a deeply unsettling one. He lives, avoiding both death an tranquility, and gains a new place to sleep as well as _doubt_.


	9. I Is For Injuries

"They kept me silenced. I couldn't heal it." Anders' voice was hollow, his shoulders tense and his head bowed low.

Karl focused on mending the damaged flesh the best he could; he did not share Anders' natural affinity for healing, but until his magic returned Karl's lesser talents would have to do. He could at least diminish the pain somewhat and close up the wounds left by the flogging, although he suspected that he would not be able to reduce the scarring by much. As he carefully cleaned off the dried blood from Anders' back, his suspicions were confirmed. Angry, thick pink scars that would whiten with time remained. Karl did not know what to say.

"It is ugly, isn't it? I knew it would scar." Anders looked over his shoulder for one brief moment, before returning his gaze to his lap.

"You could heal it again when –"

"It won't be enough, they are still going to be there!" His voice shook with anger. He touched the scars with the backside of his hand, with much less gentleness than Karl had. "They were left untreated for too long."

Karl reached out and took that hand in his, carefully stroking its fingers.

"It looks disgusting. They wanted me to look disgusting." Anders whispered, tears in his voice.

"You don't." Karl said, letting go of the hand to wrap both his arms around him. When Anders failed to choke back a sob, he reached up to dry the tears away. "You never could."

"But I _do_. And I _am_. I am and they _know_ it and they wanted it to _show_, too." He spun around to face Karl. "You know why I am! And they want_ everyone _to know it!"

"Anders, no. _No_." He put his hands around his face, coaxing him to look him in the eyes. "You are _not_. It does not make you disgusting – this is important. _You are not disgusting_." When he let go, Anders lied down and put his head in Karl's lap, letting him stroke his hair.

"It _feels_ as if it looks disgusting, though," Anders insisted after a while, perhaps in an attempt to chase the previous discussion away. Karl lets him.

"Don't worry about it. Girls will still like you."

Anders smiled. "And slightly older men with beards?"

Karl smiled back. "Always."


	10. J As In Justice

Being a full mage and no longer an apprentice has its perks aside from the end of the fear of being made Tranquil, the slightly improved privacy perhaps the most valuable one of them all. Not quite a _proper_ room and of course one without doors, but with the screens hiding his bed from view and the other mages tactfully elsewhere, there are times when Karl can almost pretend, at least for a while. Not being watched as he strokes Anders' hair, not constantly having conversations overheard and having the space to have a proper tumble makes life more bearable. For himself as well as for Anders, who has made it a habit to sneak up whenever he can. Not only to make use of the bed, to be called beautiful and have the scars on his back kissed and caressed, but to be watched over by someone he _trusts_, someone who he does not have to fear.

Karl is glad to be that person. Glad to be the one to stroke the red gold hair, to offer words of comfort, to listen to rants as well as fears.

Harrowing is one. When Anders' punishments became harsher, Karl had asked him to wait until after his Harrowing to flee again, with the vow that it would be the only time he would intervene with his escapes. They both know _why_ as well as fear it.

"They could make me Tranquil anyhow," Anders whispers against his neck. "Or kill me. I have to get out."

Karl rolls around to face him. "They won't. Not a healer with your talent."

"It's the only worth I have, isn't it? And they won't even let me use it."

This is not a time for kisses, but to press foreheads together. Karl is unable to deny it; it is possible they will not let Anders out of the tower to make use of his skills. There is nothing he can say about that, and so he says something else instead.

"You are worth more to me." Telling him just _how_ much would be much too dangerous, but there are times when he is so very close to doing so despite all dangers.

Anders smile is a sad, fleeting one, quickly swallowed up by the greater despair.

"It's unfair. They could do whatever they wanted, and I would never have justice." When he says _could_ and _would_, what he mean is _they_ _did_, and _I cannot_, because there are some words that are too painful to say out loud. "The Harrowing chamber is so high up, what if they push me out? They could, you know. I bet that is what they do with those who does not pass the test."

Karl knows what happens, but cannot tell him. And as he runs his hand over the scars on Anders' back, he knows that it is as he says; he will never see justice done for this, or for anything else. Not he and not the Tranquil who has been forced to choose a colourless existence over death, not those who have had other things forced on them, and not the ones who had never been offered any choice at all. The mere thought of Anders with the sun brand on his forehead, all the colour and life and dreams ripped from him, makes him ill. He has come to realise that there is no such thing as justice in the Circle, and no way to fight against the horrors they have in its stead.


	11. K Is For Kisses

Anders finds the fact that Karl knows how to knit utterly amusing, not so much because it actually _is_, but because he so desperately _needs_ to have something to find amusement in. He teases Karl about the knitting the same way he teases him about his fondness for porridge, for how _boring_ and _oldish_ it is, and Karl only smiles and nods, as there are times when that is the best way to deal with him, as well as times when that is the _only_ way to deal with him.

"It is so _old_," he complains, draping himself over Karl's lap like the tower's mouser does, as if expecting tummy scratches. "You are going to become an old maid, and wither away in the tower. Moss will start to grow on you and you will_ never _get laid again_ ever_."

"Nonsense. You can never resist the beard."

"But _I_ will not be _here_ all the time." Anders swats away the knitting needles and their half finished sock, and gives him his best beseeching look. And Karl knows that it is true; one way or another, Anders is _not_ going to be here as long as Karl will, because he is not the kind of person who can survive when confined like this.

Karl chooses to smile and caress his cheek instead of sighing, because there are times when he just wants to give in and give Anders whatever it is he wants, even the dangerous things. Perhaps especially the dangerous things. He is not _the_ one, because he is not _allowed_ to be, _that_ being much to dangerous for all involved, and neither is he the _only_ one. But that is not a thing to tell someone you hold dear, especially not when they are giving you bedroom eyes.

He leans down for a kiss, instead, and then more and more and more.

Anders never tells him beforehand, when he is planning to make his escapes, if he is even _planning_ them at all. Some has been decided on in the heat of the moment, throwing himself into the lake because it was _there_ when his mood was just _so_. But Karl can tell, because Anders gets more skittish, more haunted, until he can stand it no longer and makes a break for it. The templars does not see it coming, because the templars does not _care_ about how Anders is feeling, ever.

Karl knows by his moods and by his kisses; the most desperate kisses are _goodbye_ ones, sometimes before even Anders himself knows.


	12. L As In Letters

It was rare for the mages of the Circle to receive letters of any kind. While there were some whose families still wrote to them, most did not. Karl's did not. Either because it was too painful and they wanted to forget about him, to be able to let that wound heal, perhaps because they were ashamed of having a mage in the family, or because they were frightened of him. Whatever the exact reason _why_, the result was the same; no letters, no contact. In the beginning the feeling of having been cast off had been a painful one, but as the years came and went by and on, he had been able to let go of such feelings and no longer held any real bitterness towards his family.

He writes letters of his own, now. Not to them, but to Anders, who has yet to let go of his own bitter feelings of abandonment.

When Anders is spending his time locked up in solitary, Karl writes little notes for him that the cook allows to be smuggled into his cell, hidden under the dinner bowl. There are no dramatic proclamations of love on those pages but simple things like small retellings of what has occurred in the tower since last time, and some _not_ simple things, like _I miss you_, as well as the even more important one; _hold on_.

Anders is unable to pass any notes back to him, of course. It is of little significance to Karl; the letters are for _Anders'_ sake. So that Anders, who does not receive letters from his famil, either, will have something to remind him of that he is still _cared_ for, held dear by someone, and that not everyone has forgotten about him, down in that dark cell.

And there are days when Karl feels that any little thing done to help Anders retain the grip on his sanity could be the thing to keep him from snapping completely, from being broken impossibly beyond repair.


	13. M Is For Mage

The templars had come for him early in life; so early that he had not even thought about mages or magic until a burst of it had forced a toppling cart away from his sister at the market. Too many people had seen it for hiding to be a possibility, and he was given away freely. Not precisely cast off or thrown away, but after the goodbyes he never heard from them again. It _hurt_, but he learned that for a mage, that was how life usually played out. He did not like any of it, but locking those feelings away was the key to survival. Dwelling on what he had lost simply for being born with an additional skill would only lead to despair.

Because he did consider it a skill, just like any other. Or a _potential_ that ought to be honed into skills. Some were born with an affinity for swordplay, something they could use either for good or for ill or even not at all, while others could learn how to call forth blizzards or waves of energy that could heal. Karl did not see how magic itself could be evil; plenty of misdeeds were committed by people other than mages, and most mages did nothing worse than skip lectures, at least inside the tower. Outside, the apostates seemed to do little else than their best to stay out of trouble as to remain hidden and as free as they ever could be.

Karl did not see any harm in letting Harrowed mages out of the tower, but plenty of harm in keeping them all locked up inside it. Mages using their sheets or shaving razors with the intention to escape in the only way they could was not uncommon; choosing to give in to their_ despair_ and not the promises made by any demon.

There were times when Karl wondered if the reason for the out of reach windows were to avoid having people leap off the tower, rather than to prevent them from fleeing it.

And as a mage, there was not a single thing he could do to change any of it. He knew that there could be nothing done from the inside, that the change had to come from outside, and that he could have no hand in that. Even Anders, with all his rage and defiance, found it hopeless and could only think of getting out.

Deep down, Karl knew he would not live to see mages free. A system that had been in place for over a thousand years would take longer than his lifetime to change, if it could ever change at all.


	14. N As In Names

There are times when Karl wonders, if there is not a certain _power_ in names. In knowing them, they have something of _you_ that you will be forever unable to get back from them. The templars knows Karl's name, the full one, the Karl as well as the Thekla. Of Anders, they have nothing but where he is _from_. And while they have taken many things from him, they are not the same things they have taken from Karl.

Anders, pacing around the small room, all angry gestures and furious words, is still filled with the conviction that one day he _will _get out of the tower, to stay out of it for good. He cannot stand being confined, trapped, controlled, and never submits. Not the way Karl has. And while a name or lack thereof is not the sole reason, it makes a _difference_, to have something left to decide over yourself, to decide who to trust it with. Karl does not have much like that left. When he allows himself to think about it, he finds the very _idea_ of the Circle abhorrent. Yet he has yielded to it, accepted the rules and followed them, despite what he wanted, because they had him convinced that having what you _want_ is not for mages. Anders is different, still retaining his spirit, a _something_ that the templars has not been able to take or crush.

Karl does not remember what it was like, to have something like that. But when he has his arms full of Anders, breathing a name more a secret than a name in his ear, he can _imagine_ it, and hope to relearn.

"Are you even listening?" Karl snaps back to attention, to a disgruntled Anders, hands at his sides.

"Yes, yes. We should not be forced to live our entire lives in the tower." Of course they should not – Karl has no idea of _how_ it could change, but yes, it should. They should be allowed to _want_ and to _have_ more than this.

He stretches his hands out and smiles when Anders takes them in his. His smile turns into a wider one when Anders allows him to pull him close.

"Tell me about freedom."


	15. O Is For Obsession

It does not take many tumbles in bed with Anders for Karl to realise that Anders is quite exceptionally dreadful at pillow talk. There are times when they hide under the covers afterwards, with Anders whispering about the faults of the Circle with feverish intensiveness. It is not that Karl _minds_, exactly, so much as he feels there should be a time as well as a _place_ for everything, and that he would like _this_ to be the time and place to do nothing more than hold him, in silence. At least no one is likely to listen in on them at these moments; some of the things that Anders says are dangerous. No plans are ever revealed, and usually there are none to reveal either, but there _are_ things other than that better left unsaid, and not even hinted at.

Telling him to stop would not do any good, because it is not that Anders does not know of the danger in this. It is his obsession, freedom. He speaks of it as it if it the most beautiful thing in the world, pronouncing the word with pure reverence. And to Anders, it most likely is. Karl would not know, does not remember what being free felt like, but as he listens to Anders stories about the outside world, he begins to _yearn_ for it once more, like he did when he first arrived and had not yet taught himself to close that part of his heart off, the part that plays host to all ones wants and wishes.

He tells himself that he listens to Anders because if he did not, then Anders would share it with someone else, someone less safe. At least like this, he knows that things that should stay secret will do so. When he slips up and is honest with himself, he knows there is more to it than that.

He does not share the obsession with Anders, and it is not quite a _dream_, either, but _thoughts_ about it are creeping into his mind, unbidden. He is not about to give in to some urge to scale the tower walls, caught up in a desperate need to get _out,_ at any cost.

At least not yet.


	16. P As In Pact

It comes as no surprise to Karl that as Anders' Harrowing is drawing closer, his friend turns increasingly jittery and ill-tempered. There is no doubt in Karl's mind that he will pass it; he can easily imagine Anders staring down a demon and seeing through all its tricks. But Anders does not _know_, not what the Harrowing is, and not if he will even be granted the option of one.

"They might just make me Tranquil," he whispers, shaking hands holding on to Karl's robes for dear life. "I know they want to do it."

"Not anyone as good a healer as you are." Karl's voice as well as his hands are steady; one touching an elbow, another stroking a cheek, as he does his best to soothe him, to instil confidence and _calm_, but it falls on deaf ears, all touches barely noticed.

"But _if _they do! If they do –" Anders terrified eyes and broken whisper of a voice are going to haunt his nightmares for a long, long time. "Kill me."

"_What?_" Anders pulls him closer, and traps Karl's gaze, refusing to let go in any of the ways he could.

"I need you to kill me, if they do it. I could never live like that! You have to push me down the stairs, or break my neck, or _something_. Anything, just do not leave me like that, you have to promise!" There is more panic in Anders' voice now than there has ever been before.

Karl can only stare at him in horror.

"Anders, I will not be able to –"

"But you _have_ to!" His voice is pleading, now, desperate and grieved. "I would never leave _you_ like that."

The thought of killing Anders, or having Anders kill _him_, is so deeply disturbing that he almost wishes he could simply turn around and flee from it all. But a part of him realises that what Anders just said, is perhaps the closest he will ever come to hearing someone say _I love you_.

And then the fact that Karl is already Harrowed and therefore untouchable no longer matters.

"A pact, then" he agrees. "None of us will have to live like that."

Pacts are usually sealed with blood, but that is yet another thing that is much too dangerous in the Circle, with its over-zealous templars and their paranoid fear of blood magic.

They seal it with a kiss, instead, like one would a loving promise, and Anders' breathing evens out at last.


	17. Q Is For Questions

There is no warning before an apprentice is taken to their Harrowing, and as a full mage, Karl is not there to notice when the templars come for Anders in the night.

He meets Anders in the morning when he is newly Harrowed, clad in new mage's robes, white as a sheet and shivering with the kind of cold that comes from inside. There are no accusations, no shouts of _You could have told me_ or _You knew_, no questions of why Karl did not _tell_ him, because Anders understands why and how he could not.

"How can they do this?" He asks instead, voice more uneven and much lighter than it has been for years.

Karl is there to catch him when his knees gives in. He would not let him fall. But he has no answer, and can do nothing more than hold him close as question after question washes over him.

_Why are they doing this? Is it because they want to kill us? Did they hope I would fail, just so they could kill me? If I had been slower, would they have killed me? Were they waiting for an excuse to kill me? Did they try to trick me? Are they disappointed I made it, are they angry I lived? _

Karl suspects that Anders is trying hard to sound nothing but _angry_, but there is no keeping out the panic, the fear, or the sadness from his voice.

"They wanted me to die, didn't they?" Anders whispers against Karl's collar bone, and it sounds as if he is arriving at a _realisation_ as he is saying it, that for all his rantings and suspicions he did not truly _believe_ it until now. It breaks Karl's heart to hear it.

He had not known that he had enough of a heart to have it broken, but hearing Anders lose more hope than either of them knew he had left makes him feel as if it has just been shattered.

And he does not have a _good_ answer to that question.


	18. R As In Rain

"Don't you ever want to go out in the rain?" Anders asks, his too flat gaze fixed at the ceiling. He has been unusually quiet since his Harrowing, and it is beginning to unsettle Karl. This episode of dejectedness has lasted much longer than any other, making him subdued and listless, making Karl _worry_. Worry about Anders, as well as himself. Falling in love is something that mages simply does not do, and he certainly is not _in_ love. But he _cares_, perhaps too deeply, so much that he is starting to wonder if such fond feelings for a friend can be as dangerous as the love one holds for a beloved, if this companionship is as dangerous as that. Wonder if _this_ could be something too close to being one of the many things that mages can not have. Like going out in the rain.

"I do," Karl answers, because there is nothing to gain by lying.

"Why don't you, then? Escape. Walk in the rain." Anders does not have to add _with me_; Karl still knows.

And Anders should know why he can never say _yes_.

And normally, Anders would try to press the matter further, but these days he lets almost everything go, gives _in_ even with things and actions that _should_ matter more, because they _used _to matter more. Karl is not sure if things have lost their meaning, or if Anders has simply lost the strength to fight.

He is even starting to miss the occasional manic tirade, as well as the deeply inappropriate pillow talk. Under other circumstances he might be relieved by the lack of the latter, but he knows that the reason for Anders' change in behaviour has nothing to do with a sudden acquisition of tact.

"I hate it. To hear it, to see it, but not being able to feel it. I miss the smell." Karl has listened to Anders' stories of being caught in the rain while on the run, of running through fields and forests, of all the smells and the sights and the sounds, many, many times. He never tires of them, and there is _danger_ in that. Hearing it too often can and _will _lead to wanting it, longing for it, sooner or later.

But there are times when listening is the only thing he can do, and this is one of those times. So he pulls Anders close and does just that, stroking his hair in silence, and when Anders finds enough relief to be able to rest, Karl thinks of things he can not have and should not ever want. Like rain, like rivers. The freedom to form relationships, without having to fear the interference of templars. Retribution. Revolution.


	19. S Is For Scars

Anders' back is covered in a cobweb of scars, thick and thin, flat and raised, red, pink and white. None of them should hurt any longer, not with all the healing magic that has been pooled into them, but Anders still flinches at first whenever they are touched.

Because there are scars on the inside that no healing magic can ever hope to reach.

He is not the only mage in the tower with a scarred back, but Karl has never seen anyone with nearly as many scars as he has.

And he has never done _this_ for anyone else. He is not sure if he could even ever _want_ to. Most likely not; this is a thing to share with Anders, to give to Anders, him and him alone.

Anders is lying on his stomach, head buried in a pillow, undecided on whether to sob or moan as Karl is caressing his scars, pressing soft kisses on them, lets his tongue wander all over them, tracing them from start to finish. Where they are thicker, the touches grow harder, to compensate for the greater lack of sensation.

And Anders is moving now, not to flinch away, but to press himself further into the contact.

There are those that would find a back like this ugly, disgusting, but it only ever makes Karl sad. Sad because _they_ have repeatedly damaged his friend in this way, this and other ways that leaves no physical marks, and sad over as well as _angry_ at a system that resorts to things like this. It clearly helps no one.

Anders finds them ugly, and hides them from the others. Karl still finds him beautiful, in a way that has nothing to do with bodies. He is beautiful due to being so _bright_, burning with his own internal fire, and Karl is like a moth to that flame. Even in his darker moments, he is still more _alive_ than any other. And he lets Karl do this, see this, _welcoming_ it.

What comes afterwards, with kisses and touches on and inside other places, does mean _something_, but not nearly as much as this.


	20. T As In Temptation

The tower is, despite its dullness, not completely devoid of temptations. The temptation to avoid ones' chores, to sneak something out of the kitchen, to keep a book for longer than is proper, to sneak _someone_ into your dorm and under your covers. And then, of course, are the demons, their constant presence in the Fade and attempts to find a way _in_.

Karl does not worry about demons much; he has Anders, instead.

Anders in his lap, undressed and with his hair down, one hand on himself and one on Karl's back, nails occasionally digging into it, marking him with crescents. Karl holding him in place, as gently as is possible, one hand taking care to not dig into his scarred back and the other trailing lower down, caressing undamaged skin. Moving together in the same rhythm, movements meeting movements, quiet moans and gasps escaping them both.

Anders is dangerously enticing, tempting him to want _more _even without trying. Not only more of _this_, but more out of life itself. More than a tower, more than a place to be trapped in, more to _want_ and more to _need_. And then to finally receive. All the things that are not for mages. And _this_ mage in his arms, who does not care, and tries to take it all anyway.

No, Karl does not have to worry about demons.

The whispers of the demons in the Fade are nothing against the whispers in his ear in the waking world, whispers of his name and of freedom, all in the same sentence.


	21. U Is For Understanding

Karl does not like the templars, but he lacks Anders' intensity when it comes to loathing them. Most of them do not have much either – more than mages, of course, and they are at least allowed outside, but not all of them have been given a choice in whether to be here or not. Some of them are children born by mages in the tower, grown up to guard parents they will never know. He certainly does not _pity_ the templars in general, but he understands that not all of them are happy to be here, either.

He has caught templars on guard duty in the library looking at the far off windows, too high up to truly be possible to see out of. Hidden behind their helmets, it is impossible to see if there is any _longing_ showing on their faces; but when they notice Karl observing them, they always look away.

And when walking past them, armoured and helmeted, it is difficult to truly think of them as real _people_. Not in the same way that so many do not consider mages people, but they all look the same when covered up, and unless they speak there is no way to tell them apart. It is easy then, to forget that there is a person in there, shielded by steel and conviction, that there is _more_ to the person underneath beyond being a templar. He does not care about finding out _what_, but some part of him does not want to forget that their jailers are as human as he is, although he is not quite sure of _why_.

It is not something he can discuss with Anders, because there are things that Anders does not understand, and some things that he simply does not _want_ to understand. And Karl is not one to force anything on him.

He does not always understand Anders, either. He has learned to read his moods, to know what to anticipate when it plummets and twists and turns, but he does not know what it is that causes the drastic shifts in his friend's temper. All he can do is hold on to him, and hope that Anders will hold on as well.


	22. V As In Vanity

Karl does not spend as much time in front of the mirror as a certain other mage he knows, but he takes time to trim his beard in the mornings. There are those that grow one to hide something, such as an unfortunate chin or the lack of one, but not Karl. He has the sharp, strong bone structure that he vaguely remembers being so common in his homeland, that he on occasion finds himself missing seeing in abundance, especially on the women. It is a good look, not one that needs to be hidden, and that is not what he is doing. He grew the beard to _show_ something.

A Harrowed mage might be considered an adult, but as mages, they will lack the many markings of adulthood that exists outside the tower. They are not allowed to choose their own trade, to have their own homes, or starting their own families. All they have is studying, all they will ever have is Circle life.

A beard is a mark of adulthood that the templars can not rob him of.

That was his reason for growing it, and the largest reason for keeping it; the other perks are secondary. But it does look good on him, it warms his chin a bit in the chilly stone prison, and Anders _really_ likes it. Not just Anders, either; he is not the only one to have kissed it and buried eager fingers in the coarse hair. He _is_ the only one that has scratched it, just under his chin, and cooed at him as if he were a cat, however. Karl tries to not think back at that particular moment too much.

"You spend _way_ too much time on that beard," Anders remarks as he drapes himself over Karl's shoulders. He has no room to speak, really, but at least he knows better than to tug at it. _Now._

"Well, _you_ know how it is, to be vain," Karl responds because there are things that are too important to explain so early in the morning, hurriedly rushed through in between moments meant for other things.


	23. W Is For Walls

The tower walls does not close in on him the way they do around Anders, but he _is_ bothered by them, by how they are mostly just that; walls. The few windows are placed so high up that most are impossible to look out of without some stretching and climbing beforehand, or has coloured glass distorting the view.

He does not _agree_ with mages being locked up for most for their lives, but he can at least understand why there are those that might consider it a solution. Magic, like most things, can be dangerous when treated unwisely.

But surely there can be no danger in allowing them to see at least some small part of the world? If it is due to fear of them wanting more if given more, they should all just be done with it and simply kill them all. Because it is impossible to live, Karl has come to realise, without eventually wanting _more_ out of life.

It does not need to be a big thing, like freedom and equality for all, but smaller things, like a new book to read, less of a draft in the library, a room to share with someone of their own choosing; just one person, and one that is willing to share that space due to other things they share, and not because they have been forced together by a common, but not _shared_, need for more in life than studies and plain, cold walls. Someone that is able to stay the whole night without fear, someone without reason to fear as much as some mages do.

Sooner or later, there _will_ be some small thing, and then another leading to yet another. Sooner or later, you will worry about an unhappy friend, and want them to be safe from nightmares as well as cramped dark cells, and equally dark inner moods.

And one day, you will tire of simply waiting for change to come.


	24. X As In Xenophobia

When he could no longer stand doing nothing, change came, but not the kind he wanted, and not one he would have expected. Not the kind he had been quietly planting seeds for, not the kind of change he had tried to awaken wishes for in others. Perhaps he had not been quiet enough.

The Gallows is not only a change in surroundings, but being forced to adapt to an entirely different way of living. The rules are more restrictive, the punishments both harsher and more common. The _people_ are very, very different, so much so that it makes him uncomfortable in a way he has never experienced before. It nags at him, constantly; not quite a _fear_, but a constant unease in the back of his mind, like a cold that lingers. Not quite a fear, but something that is very, very close. He dislikes this place, how it is lacking in hope and in cheer. There is no running in the hallways, no gentle teasing of templars, no voices raised in _delight_. The mages talk to each other, of course, but it is not the same, not as it should be. Something is strange here. Something is _wrong_.

Surely there is a word for this, in some book in a library much smaller than the one he is used to, a library where he has found no books with added illustrations of big striped cats mauling templars. The punishment for such an act would likely be much more severe in this place, if caught.

There are days when that nagging feeling, that discomfort that always clings to him here, crosses the line of not _quite_ fear and becomes a fear that needs to be fought back, forced down, held in check. The fear of becoming like too many others in this place, so quiet, so seemingly dispirited. The amount of foreheads with the sun brand is unsettling, new ones appearing at a rate nowhere near the one back at Kinloch Hold. To think that he would ever come to miss the tower. To think that he would come to loathe a Circle this much.

It makes it all the easier to decide to continue on. This place and its mages are in a much greater need of change, of wishes, and of hope. And he will need to be all the more careful for it.


	25. Y Is For Yearning

Yearnings are much more difficult to bear than simple wants. A _want_ can be handled, suppressed, but a yearning is something so much stronger, so deep that it is like a hole in the heart, one that needs to be filled; or it will consume you instead.

He has never yearned for the Anderfels like this.

He has never yearned for friendship like this.

He has never yearned for love like this.

He has never yearned for Anders like this.

There is nothing in life he has ever yearned for as much as he yearns for _change_. Change for mages everywhere but perhaps most of all for those _here_, for change to start in and spread from this place, where it surely must be needed the most.

In a place like the Fereldan Circle, mages could afford to wait, much like he had once done. But the Gallows here in Kirkwall is a very different place; he has never been able to loose that nagging sense of wrongness at the back of his mind. It is no longer fear, but it is a constant and utterly inescapable unease. The veil is thin here, thinner now than it was when he arrived, and no wonder; during his time here so many has given in to despair, one way or another. Throats slit for the only escape there is, arms cut for the power to survive, all bloodshed weakening the veil further. Not much each time, but little by little.

He does not blame any of them. They are treated harshly here, by certain templars more like _cattle_ than people, and when you do not only feel cursed but not even as a _person _any longer, then what do you do with yourself? How do you hold on with nothing to hold on to?

Karl does not give in to any of it. He does what he can for others, the same way he has done so many times for Anders. Heal a flogged back, or something even worse, if it is something that can be soothed with healing magic at all. Bring what hope and what light he is able, refusing to give in to _anything_, and not giving up on hope. It is difficult, in a place where there is not much to hope for at all.

Then a letter arrives, written in a hand so almost completely undecipherable most would be unable to read it, and signed with what could either be a very sloppy A or an upside-down V, standing for a name no one else in here could ever know.

Then there is hope.

And more yearning than ever before.


	26. Z As In Zero Compromise

**Author's note:** This is not the end! The Swedish alphabet has three more letters, so there will be stories for those as well.

* * *

><p>Anders' letters reminds Karl of a different time; one that was better for him but worse for Anders, a time with innocent notes meant to inspire hope being snuck into a cell, hidden under a dinner bowl. This time, a time that is worse for Karl and seemingly better for Anders, the notes does inspire hope, but they are not nearly so innocent. And sneaking them past the templars are much more dangerous here than it ever was at Kinloch Hold. They are both careful with what they write, but simply describing the conditions in the Gallows is likely to be enough to earn him a harsh punishment. He is relieved that the letter that mentions things like <em>the<em> _underground_ and _zero compromise_ went in uncaught; he does not even want to think about what the penalty for such a letter could have been. He destroys it quicker than any other.

He is concerned about the slightly manic tinge to some of Anders' words. With mania comes recklessness, and that is part of why he hesitates when Anders wants to get him out, but far from the entire reason. He _is_ worried that a reckless Anders would get himself caught, but he is worried about the mages he would leave behind, as well. While there is not _much_ he can do in here, some small difference is being made.

But surely he could do more for _change_ on the outside.

Is the chance of getting out worth the risk of Anders being caught?

He keeps his eyes on the latest note as it turns to dust in his hand, and swallows. It is true that there is room for absolutely zero compromise when it comes to mages right to finally be treated like people, although it does need a bit of work before it can be used as a rallying cry.

He can not settle for making a small difference any longer.


	27. Å Är För Ånger, Å Is For Regret

_Ånger._ That old word in his old language, one that he has not heard spoken for so long that many of the words are lost to him now; _regret_. He has felt much of it, recently. The regret of not doing enough, of not feeling enough, of not experiencing enough. He feels it much more now, in the Gallows, than he ever did back in Ferelden. Surely he could have done _more_ with his time there; achieved more, researched more, helped more,_ discovered _more.

He regrets not being able to find more practical uses for force magic in everyday life. If only he had been able to show more people that magic can be a _skill_, and not a threat to be feared, perhaps some things could have been different for him.

He regrets not talking back more. Not that it would have done him any good, but there are things he regrets _not _saying.

He regrets not learning more. There had not been many things to try out in the Circle, but surely there must have been _something_ more to learn.

He regrets not having _lived_; there is so much more to life than what he has tasted of it. Or it is, to someone who is not a Circle mage. There is so much a Circle mage cannot have and cannot do, that he should have fought for earlier.

He regrets not actively fighting _back_ sooner. It would have been a risk, considering where he ended up for it once he started, but…

He regrets not taking more risks.

Oh, there will be plenty of risks to take, in the near future and beyond, but what if he had tried to escape, at least once? Being a good mage is no guarantee for small freedoms or little rewards; especially not for someone who is not primarily a healer. Being a good healer is not enough, just as simply having the right temperament is not enough. Having only one of those characteristics does not matter, both he and Anders are proof of that. To be let out one needs to have both.

Or had he, in fact, simply not been good _enough?_ He had always been much more subdued than perhaps even a sleeping Anders, but he had never been exactly meek. Not fighting everything, but not _quietly_ going along with all of it, either. Had that been enough to not be considered a candidate for being let out? If so, at least he does not regret that.

And there is still time. He can still do _something_. Something for change, hopefully, rather than increasing his collection of regrets.


	28. Ä Som I Älska, Ä As In To Love

Would things have turned out differently, Karl wonders, if he had loved Anders more? Mages might know to guard their hearts from love, or be forced to learn the hard way, but they are not incapable of it; not any of the kinds. And there has always been love between them, he has never doubted that. The words might not have been exchanged, but the lack of them does not make it any less real, and he still _knows_. To speak of it out loud would only have been a foolish thing to do. The idea to get Karl out had been foolish as well, but it had been worth the risk, however small the chance of succeeding.

And it had been all the confirmation he could ever have needed. Anders came here, one of the worst places for a mage to be, to get _him _out.

No, he does not doubt that Anders loves him. It is not the kind of love that one is _in_, but the one that is shared between friends, and that kind of love is worth just as much.

Still, he wonders. Would things have been very different? Had _that _been a risk worth taking? Would they have been escaping together, then; and joined the Grey Wardens, both of them? They had already shared much, but what would it have been like, to share even _more?_

How would it have been, to love Anders in that way? What would it have felt like? Would the feeling be much different one, than the one he has been treasuring?

He will never know, now.

He keeps his head raised and stares the templars down with a defiance that would make even Anders proud. They might have gagged him to prevent him from biting his tongue to make the only escape that is left to him, now, but they will not make his last feeling be one of fear. Soon they will take it all, but they will not take _this_.

And so he keeps his mind firmly on what it means to love, before they take even the ability to do so from him.


	29. Ö Är För Önskan, Ö Is For A Wish

The still fresh brand on his forehead stings with pain. If he had magic, he would simply heal it, but he does not. He used to, but he was too rebellious, they tell him. That is why they had to take it away, and make an example of him.

What a ridiculous thought that is. He cannot imagine himself being rebellious; he has memories that suggests that he once was, but he is unable to imagine it. In fact, he cannot properly imagine anything at all. Strange. Did that go with his magic, as well? If that is the case, then life will certainly be quite dull from now on.

They inform him of the rules. They ask him questions. He answers them all, as is proper.

That is how he spends the rest of the day, and then the days that comes after; as is proper, the way he has been taught, now.

He no longer dreams.

He does as he is told.

He completes the tasks given to him.

He does not exactly want anything.

He writes a letter in response to one he did not read before they made him change. He is not sure of how to answer, but they tell him how. The answer does not seem proper, but he does as he is told. That, at least, is proper.

There is not much to make of the days that follows, not beyond following the new routine set up for him. He does not think of what he used to do, unless someone says something that makes him reach out to his memories, unbidden.

The templars need his assistance, one night, to go and collect his old associate. Mages are not usually allowed out at night, but he does as he is told. As is… proper.

A blond man from memories he does not reach for on his own arrives later, as Karl suddenly knows he would, and then tell him. Anders is older now but recognisable still, as radiant as ever. It does not touch him the way it used to, but he remembers that radiance well, and that it used to make him feel. It no longer does as feeling is now out of his reach, but it still, somehow, seems a shame to quench that flame. Perhaps because he used to feel something for it and for him, or because there is something wrong with the templars' plan.

He still tells Anders of it; that they intend to make him understand.

And then Anders cracks. Not as he used to, back in the Circle, but with blue light and a darker rage than ever before. He fights the templars, he and and the people he has brought with him, but Anders is the one to wipe out most of them, blue light pulsating around him, seeping into Karl, overwhelming him with a _something_ he has not _felt_ for far too long. And when the last templar has fallen, Karl is glad of it. He should feel disturbed, but he is elated. He feels –

He _feels_. He can _feel_.

"I… Anders, what did you do?" Karl asks with wonder, because what else is there to feel at a moment like this, with all the beauty of the world returned to him? "It is like… you brought a piece of the Fade into this world. I had already forgotten what that feels like." And soon he will be unable to feel it again; he can feel it slipping, something inside him getting fainter. There is something inside Anders as well, burning like the sun; in this dark place, after this dark time, he is no longer simply the light, but the very sun itself. Something has changed, but there is no time to learn _why_, not as _himself_. And he will not return to being a templar slave.

He has a last wish.

Anders shakes his head and tells him no, but Karl does not doubt that he will. There was a pact, so many years ago, one he thought would never matter; but now that it does, he knows that Anders will. He will not leave him like this. There are things worse than death, and now they both know it. Without the colour and the song of the heart, a life with all dreams ripped out – that is one of those things. And Anders would never let him stay trapped in a body robbed of the ability to even hope.

"Now, it is fading!" There is desperation in his voice, he can hear it, but the most important thing is that he can still _feel_ it.

Anders' expression is pained and Karl can feel his pain, but –

Anders looks at him with such sad eyes.

"Why do you look at me like that?" It is strange, why does he look at him as if he had just placed the heaviest burden in the world upon his shoulders?

"Goodbye," he says, and there is such finality to his tone. Goodbye? What for?

Oh.

The dagger is inside him, searching for his heart. Anders presses their foreheads together, and then the point of the weapon finds its goal.

Before there is nothing at all, he can almost feel relief.


End file.
